


Aria for the Dark

by SilverWolf626



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: F/F, Music, Phantom of the Opera - Freeform, Phantom of the Opera AU, Singing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2020-10-12 20:17:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20570270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverWolf626/pseuds/SilverWolf626
Summary: After the sudden death of her father, Jaina Proudmoore continued to sing if not only for her father's memory. Her progress in the musical arts only continued to get better as she pursued her fondest memories. The patrons of the Lordaeron Opera House recognized a significant change in Jaina's talent even after she had pulled back from the stage to sing in solitude. While the mystery of her emerging talent seems to be a secret to Jaina, she begins to uncover the pieces from her broken past.





	1. Visions

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!

Ever since she was a young girl, before she learned to open her mouth and speak, Jaina loved music. She loved its sweet caress, the way the rhythm matched the fluttering of her heart. It was expected, however, as every member of Jaina’s family practiced the arts of music in one form or another. Her parents, Daelin and Katherine Proudmoore, nobles of the bustling city of Theramore, invested in the rehabilitation, preservation, and progress of the local opera house, named Lordaeron. Tandred and Derek, Jaina’s older brothers, both worked at the house. Derek conducted the orchestra, and Tandred, along with his father, served as one of the primary choices for male leads in the operas. 

  
Jaina took to singing at the ripe age of five. Her father wanted nothing more to assist his daughter with achieving her dream. It was a commonality, the love of music, that father and daughter shared. With the best instructors available, Daelin assisted Jaina as she trained her voice every day. She continued to get better after each lesson, however, when Daelin unexpectedly passed, Jaina’s world was turned upside down. Sadness took over her heart, and she pulled back into the shadows. This lull lasted but a few years, but Jaina remembered that her father would have wanted nothing more than for her to pursue what the two of them loved. Courage propelled Jaina to take a step back into the arts, though she would practice in private, away from her family and the chaos of the opera. One day, her mother caught her singing to herself at her father’s grave. Katherine was able to convince her daughter to return to the opera house. One after another, her former instructors found her new vocal range phenomenal, peculiar, and suspiciously sudden. Jaina was, in fact, able to shift from soprano to alto in an instant, with no repercussions whatsoever. The ability that sprouted inside of the young Proudmoore amazed everyone she came in contact with, including the owners of the opera house. 

Entranced as they were, the owners pulled Jaina into the life of operatic performances when she was thirteen. While she was a prominent and valuable member of the cast, Jaina received secondary roles. Jaina took to the back, retreating into her own mind. She was a timid girl, despite her family’s talent and wealth. Jaina was content with creating music. She did not care how, when… All she wanted was to sing, and to get better at doing so. She had convinced herself that being among the chorus was the best option for her progress in her vocal career. And so, there she resided. Her talent stayed hidden as she flowed with the bustling backstage life of an opera cast. 

She would not stop singing, no matter what. For her father, she would continue, not only to keep his spirit alive, but to celebrate the life he had, long ago.

The daughter of Daelin Proudmoore brought more than just publicity to Lordaeron. Strange things had begun to occur. While there had always been something of a rumor about an unknown presence in the opera house, the happenings were more frequent. The young cast members began to see silhouettes shadowed over the rafters and the empty viewing boxes. In fact, one of the boxes, the one with the best view, had been all but abandoned from use. Those who occupied that box reported hearing voices and a soft humming, almost like a lullaby. Though they described the tune as beautiful, it was haunting none-the-less. Other things had happened, of course, and they were not far from frequent. 

Many of the employees of the opera house blamed the return of Jaina for the happenings. Quite a few of them came to the conclusion that Daelin’s ghost resided in the opera house. It was not a ridiculous thought; the people of Theramore were superstitious. The graveyard was but a mile from the opera house, and Daelin had died in an accident involving the weights that held some of the backdrops for the stage in place. Perhaps his body lie in the graveyard, but his soul remained behind, watching after his family.

Nevertheless, the show must go on, and the people must be entertained.

* * *

Azshara was the most famous singer at the opera house. Beautiful, glorious and loved by her audience, she was not loved by the rest of the cast. They saw her as vain, conceited, and narcissistic. She expected every lead role to fall upon her shoulders, and she often got what she wanted. When rehearsing, she had a band of women follow after her, aiming to please her in any way that they could. Whether that meant fetching her food or drink, tripping other performers, or even flirting with the stage managers to get Azshara an expensive accessory for her performances, Azshara’s underlings were at the woman’s beck and call. 

This rehearsal was no different. A beautiful opera,  _ The Rebellion _ , detailing the historical battle of Theramore would take place in the upcoming days. It was often that the directors opened the season of performances with the re-enactment of Theramore’s violent beginning. The city was fond of the history in which they held. Long ago, Theramore had been under the rule of a tyrant. This tyrant, King Arthas Menethil, imposed cruel tax and labor among those who could barely afford to feed their families. It just so happened that the city rose up, and fought against Arthas’ loyalists. After several bloody battles, the rebels emerged victorious, at great cost. Most of the city had been destroyed, including the performance hall, which was now the great opera house. It seemed only fitting for the opera to pay homage to those who lost their lives so many years ago.

The opera itself detailed the account of a woman who stood beside another during the rebellion. The lead role was that of a young woman who wrote about the occurences in which the battle took place. Her writing told the tale of a valiant warrior who lead the charge against Arthas and his forces, but ultimately fell to their death by Arthas’ hand. There was some speculation as to why the performance did not include both the writer and the warrior as lead roles, but for some reason, that was never spoken of in detail or with much importance. It was almost as if the people were unsure of the warrior. Therefore, the actor or actress playing the character always dressed in dark clothes and would never show their face. The warrior had always remained a mystery; even in the writer’s account of the battle, the warrior was never described in detail. Regardless of the sentimentalities of the performance, Azshara, of course, was content with throwing her beauty and charm around in order to land the lead role of the writer.

It was the fifth rehearsal. Stage workers were running about, left and right, trying to prepare for the next scene. Transitions between sets were very difficult in this performance, as the setting changed from a small hovel to a raging battlefield. The switch needed to take place quickly, in order to make the opera run smoothly. 

After being berated for not making the transition in time, the director, Gelbin Mekkatorque, a gnome with a big mouth, instructed for the company to take their places. Those who were performing as soldiers, both male and female, took their places on the set, as did the chorus members, who were playing citizens that were caught in the crossfire. When everyone seemed to be ready to perform the number, there was, of course, one who wasn’t. Gelbin was drumming his tiny fingers on his arm as he waited for Azshara to rise from her seat and take her place at the head of those acting as the soldiers. 

In that scene, Azshara would sing the words in which the writer had written so long ago. While Azshara did, the soldiers would rush around her, dancing according to the song that was being sung. The idea of the scene was to provide the audience with the image that, as the rebels had been fighting, the writer was writing. 

The stage was quiet, and everyone’s eyes were on Azshara, who slowly, but elegantly, ascended from her seated position. There was tension in the air as she strode to take her pace at center stage, even more so as she dipped her head in a mocking manner towards Gelbin.

“Are you quite finished?” Mekkatorque demanded, shaking his head. His voice was so high- most of the cast members found it to be amusing. 

Azshara brought her seductive gaze down upon the small man, using his size to her advantage. She was Kaldorei, one of the tallest races on the planet, and Mekkatorque? One of the smallest. Azshara opened her glossed lips to say, “Ready when you are, director,” in such a honey sweet tone that some of the other performers shivered in delight. 

Gelbin was having none of Azshara’s nonsense. He rolled his eyes and began to bark orders to the company. He made sure everyone was in their spot, ready to perform before declaring, “I want you to go through the song, and as you do, the soldiers will move around you. As we practiced five times before, all of the movements need to be on point with the rhythm of your song, Lady Azshara.”

A few of the chorus members sighed at the title in which the director addressed the vain woman. Some of the chorus members chuckled, and whispered to one another with bright smiles on their faces. Most of them were young, and as such, the gossip regarding Azshara and practically every member of the stage crew, including the director, spread rapidly from ear to ear. 

The chorus, full of young men and women, worked very well together for the most part. They supported one another and often spent time together outside of rehearsal. Most of them lived at the opera house, in fact. They had no where else to go, and desired to be where their talent could flourish. Under no exception was Miss Proudmoore. Nestled in between her fellow performers, Jaina looked upon Azshara with not only amusement, but slight jealousy. Azshara, according to Jaina, was everything an actress needed. The poise, the charm… drive. Of course, Jaina found multiple traits that she did not appreciate in regards to Azshara. Although the two of them had only spoken in passing, or when Azshara demanded Jaina to fetch her something, the two were civil, and Jaina respected the lead actress more than her peers. It is, after all, one of the things that Daelin had taught her. He used to say that, although people may be off-putting, they get to where they are based on their talent and dedication. Back then, Daelin had eluded to some exceptions, but for the fatherly wisdom to his daughter, he instructed her to treat everyone with respect, regardless of their behavior. Because of this, Jaina concluded that there was much she could learn from Azshara. Even so, Jaina did occasionally fall into the giggling with her fellow performers. 

Jaina glanced to her side, where another Kaldorei, a young woman, ironically named Pained, sat. While Pained’s costume was much more rugged than Jaina’s, the two of them were playing the roles of citizens who worked in the market. Jaina was dressed as a baker, while Pained was dressed as a butcher. Looking at the other members of the chorus, costumes portraying librarians, cooks, merchants, peasants and the like were found. Another one of Jaina’s friends, Modera, who was dressed as a fishmonger, turned her attention from Azshara to Jaina herself.   
“She’s so slow!” Modera whispered through the smile on her lips.

Pained leaned over Jaina, aiming to snicker along with Modera. “Maybe she’s getting old!”

Jaina looked between the two of them, smiling in slight amusement. She did not participate in the banter, and although she was idly listening to them, the young woman’s attention was on something else. Past the rows and rows of padded seats in the auditorium, up the beautiful golden trimmed walls, over the second balcony and up to the domed mural of angels that served as the chamber’s ceiling, Jaina thought she saw someone on the catwalk. Around the edges of the mural was a walkway in which workers would be able to adjust the lights and move quickly from place to place without being noticed by the audience. During performances, the catwalk was never lit, but for the sake of the rehearsal, it was. While it was far away, Jaina only saw a silhouette, but dismissed her thoughts, blaming the image on the blinding stage lights in her eyes. Shaking her head, Jaina leaned back, speaking to Pained and Modera, “How long do you think she’s going to make us wait for the actual performance?”

Another young chorus member, who went by the name of Chromie, whispered up to Jaina, “Who knows! She’s probably going to purposefully make us all wait!”

Jaina chuckled, closing her eyes for but a moment for a reprieve from the light, “I’m sure she’s very busy. She’s very good at what she does.”

Modera suppressed a snort. “You’re too kind, Jaina. You and your brothers.”

She wasn’t wrong, even Jaina agreed. “Someday, I hope I can be as talented as she is.”

Pained grabbed onto Jaina’s shoulder tightly. “You are joking, yes?” She proceeded to take Jaina’s cheeks in her palms, forcing Jaina to puff her lips out. “You have more talent than anyone here. You should be the one playing the writer.” 

Jaina, after quickly recovering from being grabbed, blushed, and looked down. “That’s very kind of you, Pained, but I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes.”

“Step on toes?” Chromie was now fully part of the conversation, as she had turned her body completely to face Jaina. “It makes me angry how much you don’t step on toes. You’re a sweet lady, Jaina. Your father would’v-”

“Ladies and gentlemen if you please!” Came Gelbin’s loud, squeaky voice. “From the top!” 

Jaina wasn’t able to dwell on what she thought Chromie would have said if she were able to continue. The stage ignited into action the second Azshara began to sing the words of her song. The soldiers seemed to be following the tempo of the song magnificently. The chorus members, including Jaina, sang their part. All was going according to plan, running smoothly, until Azshara waved her arms around. 

“No, no! This is all wrong!” She exclaimed, looking towards Gelbin, who had put his head in his hands. “If I am going to perform this number,” She continued on, complaining about how the soldiers were off with their movements and how some of the chorus members entered their part too late. The complaining lasted for about three minutes. Gelbin waited, silently, for Azshara to stop her seemingly endless ranting. It could have gone on forever, if not for each one of the main stage lights suddenly popping and breaking. 

The actors on the stage gasped and reared back, aiming to distance themselves from the falling glass shards. Azshara, too, stepped back, and was quickly tended to by the cluster of stage workers who desired something from the tall woman.

The stage manager threw his clipboard on the ground, turning his angry eyes up to the rafters, only to see no one there. He smoothed down his beard, marching from backstage towards Gelbin. “I want new stage workers! They continuously leave their post!”

Gelbin sighed. “Yes, Genn. We’re working on it.” He rose his high pitched voice. “Light crew!” 

Both Genn and Gelbin waited for the stumbling of feet to stop before them. Gazlowe, a goblin and director of lighting, had a liquor bottle in hand, and behind him was the rest of his crew, completely hammered. 

“Do you see what I mean, Gelbin!” Genn shouted, ripping the liquor from Gazlowe’s hands and taking a swig of it himself. 

“Gazlowe,” Gelbin began, ignoring Genn. “What happened with the lights?”

Gazlowe, while wobbly, teetered his green head up to the broken light fixtures. “Wha…” He furrowed his big, black brows. “M’ crew an’ I jus’ changed those yesterday!”

“Those were high quality bulbs!” Another light crew member shouted in a drunken stupor. 

Gelbin looked at Genn. “You were supposed to check the bulbs after they were install-”

“I did! Everything was perfect!” Genn snapped. “This must have been another prank!”

“Take an hour,” Gelbin yelled out to the cast, “we’ll figure out what is going on and resume rehearsal.”

The cast groaned, wanting nothing more than to be done for the day. Regardless, they were pleased to have a break. Some of them, after exiting the stage, went to their rooms, others to eat, and a few took to the halls to stretch their legs. 

Jaina had decided to go off on her own, down to the known lower parts of the opera house. She spent many hours down there, often singing to herself or practicing. When she was younger, her father had taken her brothers and herself down to play tag among other games. Jaina, now, was the only one of her family who still ventured beneath the auditorium. Occasionally, stage crew would use the lower levels as a drinking hideout, or as a way to escape Gelbin and Genn. For the most part, however, the lower levels were empty. 

Faint flaming torches, cobblestone walls and cobblestone floors greeted Jaina’s vision. The halls were dimly lit, but Jaina knew where she was going. After walking for a while, Jaina came upon a circular room in which held three mirrors upon a large stone slab. The slab was lighted by two candles that flickered as Jaina came forward. Long ago, Daelin and Jaina put on performances for one another on their stone slab stage. 

Jaina slowly approached the slab, the mirrors, and knelt down. On the slab were various trinkets and flowers- all in dedication to her father. The chamber was full of fond memories, and Jaina found solace in venturing there. 

Looking into the mirror, Jaina offered a sad smile. “I’m back, father.” She began, reaching forward to lift one of the flowers from the stone. “We had another stage issue.” She chuckled, but that chuckle turned to a soft sigh. Reaching up to her face, Jaina wiped a tear that had started to roll down her cheek. “They’ll say you did it, again.” She forced a smile, though after each word, more tears would slowly drip down from her eyes. “I’m grateful for the break, though.” 

Jaina took a deep breath, eyeing the flower in her hand. “Mother is well. The boys, also.” She did not lift her gaze, but set the flower back. “I suppose I’m alright, too.” She lifted her hands up to wipe her eyes. “I miss you, father. More than anything.” Tilting her head up towards the mirrors, Jaina slowly opened her eyes, expecting to see nothing but an empty room.

What she saw frightened her. Standing before the hallway in which Jaina had arrived through, stood a tall, dark figure. Jaina’s eyes widened, but she turned, and stated almost as if she was wishing, “Father?”

No. Daelin was dead. Jaina saw the body, she attended the funeral. Was this… was this her father’s ghost? After a few more seconds of observation, Jaina noted the tall points protruding from the figure’s head. While Jaina could not see the person’s face, she was able to tell that the figure was an elf. Confused, Jaina cautiously rose to her feet, taking a step towards the shadowed figure. 

“Can I help you?” Jaina asked, feverishly trying to clean herself up. 

The silence was unnerving, long, uncomfortable. The two stared at one another for a long time, taking in what of one another they could see. It was the stranger, however, that moved, then. Taking a step out into the light, Jaina would be graced with the sight of a tall woman, clad in the finest of clothing. Shoes, black, made of pure leather sparkled in the light of the torches. Long, muscular legs hugged by tight black fabric lead up to a jet black, buttoned tuxedo coat, resting comfortably on a silky white dress shirt. This stranger, an elven woman, stood with confidence and determination. Her stance was firm and demanding, but the woman in her own right was full of mystery, if not only for the pure white mask that was firmly placed on the right side of the woman’s face. Golden locks of hair rested about each side of the woman’s face, while seductive, bright red eyes peered towards Jaina. A slight smirk had been curled upon the woman’s pale, purplish face.

Slowly, the mysterious woman extended a gloved hand. “No,” came her sweet voice, dripping from her tongue like honey, “But, I can help you, dear Jaina.”


	2. Sleepless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The choir learns a bit more about Lordaeron's resident haunting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, but here it is! Had lots of help from my beta readers, Karma and BrazenedMinstrel!

And just like that, the woman was gone. Jaina furrowed her brows and cautiously stepped forward, blinking, trying to discern what she had just witnessed. Jaina even rubbed her eyes, thinking to herself about how she could be seeing things or if there truly had been a woman in the catacombs of the Lordaeron Opera House. Dumbfounded, Jaina shook her head, turned towards the stone slab of a stage, and looked at herself in the mirror.

  
Sighing, she said, “Until next time, father.”

  
While the only daughter of Daelin began to return to the surface, she was completely unaware of the commotion that had taken place while she was gone. Gelbin had been the first to return to the auditorium, and what he saw first seemed like a joke. Before him, written in thick, crimson liquid on the shiny floors of the main stage, was a message. It read:

The Diva is NOT my Writer.

Gelbin shook his head, and while he was incredibly annoyed, he did not show it. Something pulled at his thoughts. This had not happened before. No. He tried to shrug it off with a laugh. “Alright!” He shouted in his squeaky voice. “All of you, break time is over!” He tapped his foot as he waited for the cast to arrive back on stage.

  
The members of the company seemed slightly taken aback by the red message. Genn nearly had a heart attack when he saw it for himself. “What is the meaning of this!?” he demanded.

  
Gelbin threw his hands up in exasperation, “Seems like someone thought it would be amusing to deface the house, and insult our star!”

  
Thankfully, Azshara hadn’t made her way to the stage, yet.

  
While Gelbin cast his gaze across the company to scan for any guilty faces, he was unaware of the chaos that was about to ensue.

  
“Someone better speak up!” he started. “This is not fu-”

  
He stopped in his words as the bloodied corpse of a Goblin fell from the rafters, hitting the stage with a thud and the sickening sound of bones cracking. Blood splattered onto the choir, and some of the people playing the soldiers. While it took mere seconds for everyone near the sudden catastrophe to run backstage, screams filled the air, gasps were heard in every direction. Both Gelbin and Genn’s faces had turned white.

  
Genn was the first to hold up his hands. “Everyone, stay calm! This had to have been an accident!” His voice was unsure, and the others knew it.

  
“An accident!” came a bothered voice.

  
Azshara glided onto the stage with her handmaidens following close behind. She showed no respect or concern whatsoever for the incident that had taken place. “Someone here is out for my role!”

  
Gelbin looked at her with disbelief. “Are you mad?”

  
Azshara stomped her foot like a petulant child. “Of course! I am livid! Which one of you cretins is pining for my role?” She walked towards the frightened singers, jabbing her finger at them. “It is one of you, isn’t it?”

  
It didn’t take long for the singers to get defensive, but before they could combat Azshara, the house manager and director of the choir stepped forward, blocking Azshara from the distraught singers.

  
The house manager was always near the choristers. He oversaw the interactions in the dorms and made sure that everything was accounted for, and that the singers were ready, prepared, and comfortable to perform and live at the Opera House. His name was Nathanos. He was a burly man, but kind. His eyes were normally soft, and he often wore his signature black frock coat, along with a top hat. However, in this particular moment, his eyes were fiery with anger, and his hat was off in respect for the man who had just met his end mysteriously.

  
The director of the choir, Thalyssra, a beautiful, lengthy Shal’dorei woman, stood firmly next to Nathanos. With a simple dress covered by a blue shawl, she carried with her simplicity, but elegance about her form.

  
“Stay your hand, Azshara.” Nathanos spoke, nearly spitting with anger as he did so.

  
“I can assure you,” began Thalyssra in her melodious voice, “The members of my ensemble are nothing but honorable and kind. It would be wise for you to back down.”

  
Surprisingly, Azshara did back down at Thalyssra’s command. The diva paid no mind to Nathanos, as she believed that the short man was beneath her. Azshara sneered towards Thalyssra after collecting her thoughts, and turned on a heel to return to her chambers.

  
Nathanos nodded to Thalyssra, and received one from the beautiful woman in return. Both of them turned to face the frightened group.

  
Nathanos began counting those surrounding him, but his count fell short. He scanned over the small crowd, his eyes falling onto Modera and Pained. In a calm voice, he asked, “Where is Miss Proudmoore?”

  
Both Modera and Pained could not control the rising panic in their gut as they, too, looked frantically about the present persons for their friend. Jaina was nowhere to be found, however.

  
Thalyssra placed her hand on Nathanos’ shoulder. “I am sure she is with her brothers. They were planning on coming in today. After all, Tandred is playing the Warrior.”

  
Nathanos had not known that they had cast Tandred as the Warrior. While he was not surprised with the casting, he was curious as to why he had not been at rehearsal. “Where is the lad? Where has he been during rehearsal?”

  
Thalyssra began to usher the crowd away from the scene and towards the dorms, but she did not leave Nathanos without an answer. “Derek had to convince him to come today. The entire family is still struggling, you know, Nathanos.”

  
Nathanos nodded begrudgingly. “Indeed.”

  
He watched them go, and instead of turning back to assist with the situation at hand, he departed, himself, towards the entrance of the catacombs. He knew where Jaina was. He was pleased when he saw her exiting through the double wooden doors, carefully, as to not alert anyone that she had ventured below the building. He walked up to her slowly, and held his gloved hand out to calm her when she gasped, realizing that she had been caught.

  
“Mr. Nathanos…” she started in a sheepish voice. “I-”

  
“No need.” He held out his outstretched hand, and closed it gently around her own when she took it. “There has been an incident. We are all returning to the dorms. It is time that we had a discussion about this opera house.”

  
As he lead her back to the dormitory, he explained what had happened, doing his best to calm her fears. While such a goal seemed to be far fetched, he did manage to keep her from panicking. She had remained relatively silent through the explanation, but nonetheless, she was quite curious.

  
All would be explained, however.

  
The living room, situated between the male and female quarters of the dormitory was filled with chatter, confusion, and conspiracies. The vocalists were seated on the floor and in the chairs, all surrounding the fireplace where Thalyssra had lit a fire, now roaring.

  
When Nathanos entered and brought with him Jaina, Modera and Pained were quick to take her from him, and lead her back to where they had been seated. The two of them grilled her for information about where she had been while Nathanos and Thalyssra conversed quietly with one another.

  
Jaina’s mind was on the mysterious figure she had seen beneath the opera house rather than on her worried, but heavily relieved friends. She sat with a furrowed brow, not answering Modera or Pained, to their dismay, but the questions stopped when Nathanos addressed the choir.

  
“There is something that you should all be made aware of.” He began, nodding when the crowd grew silent with anticipation. “We have not had an incident such as this in a long time, but, we, Thalyssra and I, are no strangers to odd happenings in Lordaeron.”

  
Thalyssra stepped up. “We had no reason to disclose this information to you as many do not believe in the metaphysical world. However, now, it is important that we discuss this matter.”

  
Modera had glanced at Pained, who looked incredibly confused. Modera sighed, and muttered softly, “Ghosts, Pained.”

  
“Ever since this opera house was built, hundreds of years ago, there has always been a strange presence living here. Before the Proudmoores invested in the building and the preservation of the opera house,” Nathanos nodded to Jaina in silent gratitude, “The presence has been quiet. Before the Proudmoores brought life back into this historic building, there had been no shortage of strange messages and something akin to an unnerving presence reported.”

  
Jaina thought of the figure she had thought that she saw while she was on stage earlier that day while Thalyssra continued, “Those of you may have noticed some shadows or heard some whispers, noises… happenings, if you will, about the opera house as of late.”

  
Some of the chorus members nodded in agreement. Jaina nodded, as well.

  
“This presence is something of a patron of the Opera House.” Nathanos stated. “We believe it has been here since the very roots of Lordaeron were constructed.” He narrowed his eyes towards some of the crowd who had already started to doubt the explanation. “Believe it or not. My job is to keep you safe. You will not travel the halls alone, and you will be in your rooms at eight o’clock in the evening.”

  
Thalyssra clasped her hands behind her back, “Should you find yourself hearing voices or feeling watched, quietly return to a populated area, and alert Nathanos or I of your experience.” She cleared her throat. “Please remember to treat the Opera House with respect, as it so deserves. We would not want to anger the presence further.”

  
“For most of you, that should not be a problem. Conduct your daily activities as you have been, but do so in a professional manner.” Nathanos clapped his hands together. “Now, the lot of you, to your rooms. I do not want to see you until morning bells.”

  
And that was that. The frightened singers quickly returned to their rooms, making sure to shut the door and lock it in anticipation. Whispers and theories filled the bedrooms, and the evening would prove to be sleepless for many.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another thank you to my beta readers! And, thank you to my readers.
> 
> I really appreciate comments and support. Such things help me continue to write the story!


	3. Descent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaina meets her admirer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Please comment. I like comments!

The chatter had dissipated after about an hour or so, at least in Pained, Modera, and Jaina’s room. While Jaina remained relatively silent, only offering comments here and there, her mind was nothing but. Thoughts raced through her mind, confusion clouded her judgement, and the sinking feeling that the figure she had met in the catacombs had something to do with this murder.

Jaina sat silently on her bed, looking at her two friends sleeping soundly across the room. The lights were off, but a lone, lit candle stood dormant on the nearest nightstand. The flame flickered softly in the cold, night air. Jaina stared at it. She watched the fire dance back and forth, almost like a metronome. Such a sight brought her comfort.

She figured that she should at least attempt to get some sleep. Rolling onto her back, Jaina reached down and pulled up the warm patchwork quilt that her mother had made for her when she was younger. Curling up tightly in the security of the blanket, Jaina felt almost safe. She would leave the candle lit, just in case.

Nightmares did not haunt her sleep that night, rather, a soft but familiar humming was what roused her from her slumber. Her eyes fluttered open as she contemplated whether she was dreaming or truly hearing the humming. For a slight moment, the humming had stopped. Looking towards the ever flickering flame of the candle, Jaina concluded that she had simply been dreaming. Jaina closed her eyes.

“Beware, beware, the daughter of the sea…”

Like glass shattering, Jaina’s eyes shot open as she heard the voice. Quickly, she would sit up, going to move to the edge of the bed. Wrapping her quilt about her shoulders and holding the corners together before her chest, she reached for the golden candelabra.

“Beware, I heard him cry.”

She gripped the handle tightly, rising from bed. The warnings from Nathanos and Thalyssra flooded her thoughts. Though, her own precautions eluded her. The beautiful, silky voice drew her in, pulling her from her rest and the safety of her bed.

“His words carried across the ocean breeze.”

She pushed herself up, not bothering with her slippers, and made her way to the door. While she stood before it for what seemed like hours, turned out only to be seconds. The door, unmanipulated by any physical force, slowly opened, releasing Jaina to the darkness of the hallway. She took a few steps forward into the open area, not realizing that the door quietly closed behind her.

“As he sank beneath the tide.”

  
The enchanting voice lured her through the hallway. The candle cast dancing shadows upon the walls and closed doors. One might even see the shadow of a figure following after Jaina, but the voice? The voice brought her down through the lounge and out of the dormitories, into the lobby and towards the doors that lead to the catacombs.

And there she was. Hand outstretched, the woman from the day before- clad in her blackened overcoat and leather gloves. She stood nearly invisible in the darkness of the night, if not for the red, glowing eyes that slightly illuminated the carefully placed porcelain mask.

The crimson glow ignited a fire within Jaina and the young woman began to feel her senses sharpen. Her ears took in the melodious humming that started up again when she had set her eyes upon the elusive figure. Jaina’s pupils dilated, the hair on the back of her neck prickled and her nose took in the alluring scent of roses. The quilt fell from her shoulders, settling to the ground silently.

Jaina found herself reaching forward at the woman’s hand. Her innocent eyes were glued to the red irises that bore into her own. Before she knew it, her hand was softly grasped in the other’s. The half-masked figure smiled, nodding curtly to Jaina. As the woman continued her humming, she leaned forward, lifting her right hand and maneuvering her forefinger and thumb to douse the flame. The candelabra fell to the floor with a loud clangor.

* * *

And down they went, through the catacombs, past the makeshift stage that brought Jaina and her family so much joy before. The masked woman brought her through areas of the beneath in which Jaina did not know existed. Places she had never even thought to explore were introduced to her, and yet, her focus, attention… want, was on the woman leading her.

Even feeling that she was in danger, Jaina could not force her body to stop. Her hand was curled softly in the taller being’s, and her eyes wandered from the woman’s head to her feet. She had long, pointed ears, Thalassian, if Jaina could remember correctly. She knew that such creatures were revered and beautiful; yet why would this one cover her face with a mask? Jaina knew that the Thalassian elves were a proud race and wealthy race, which confused the young singer even further.

The elven woman’s body was built, Jaina could tell, even under the thick clothing. She walked with elegance, but caution, nonetheless. Slick blonde hair, tied neatly behind her head, reaching down in between the elf’s shoulder blades.

Every so often, the masked elven beauty would turn her head slowly back to Jaina. Crimson met the sparkle of a deep sea blue. Jaina felt her stomach flutter each time she was blessed with the woman’s gaze. She could tell, then, that this person meant her no harm. There was care and something Jaina could not discern behind those curious red eyes.  
Before she knew it, they were at another set of double doors. They stood ominously at the end of an abandoned hallway nestled far beneath the entrance to the catacombs. Jaina did not realize that these doors, too, opened on their own. With a hearty moan, the wooden doors slowly arched into what looked like nothing but darkness. Jaina did not notice, though, as the two of them had settled their sights on one another once more.

She could not help but offer a small, gentle smile to her host. Jaina felt comfort, then, completely unaware that her senses were failing her. Her body grew heavy. Though her mind told her to snap out of it, she did not bother to try. The presence of the porcelain mask brought an invisible yet enticing ambience about Jaina’s body. Quickly, the aura became overwhelming. She felt her knees begin to buckle, but before she could hit the ground, strong arms wrapped under her upper back and below her knees.

She knew she was in the woman’s arms, then, but succumbed to sleep as the masked woman began to hum to her once more. The last thing that Jaina caught before her eyes closed was a mystifying smile sneaking its way about the peculiar woman’s face.

They descended into the depths of Theramore.

* * *

When Jaina’s eyes finally opened, she found herself on top of a cozy bed. The bed had black veil about it to protect from the lights of the surrounding area. Jaina silently lifted her hands to her eyes, rubbing them softly, before sitting up. She let loose a deep and relaxed sigh while she pushed her fingers into the silky purple sheets that she had been resting on.

The young woman remembered what had happened, albeit vaguely. She had been stirred from her slumber by some mysterious force, and lured towards the entrance to the catacombs. That was where she found that elusive elven woman who wore the porcelain mask. She remembered being brought down into the tunnels below the opera house. She recalled red eyes gazing at her, almost cautiously, before she was lulled to sleep once more, and darkness had filled her consciousness.

Jaina faintly heard the sound of a piano playing off in the distance. Curiously, she crawled to the edge of the bed and pulled back the black veil, only to be greeted with an unexpected blinding light. Rearing back, she covered her eyes, waiting for them to adjust. After a few seconds, however, Jaina placed her feet onto the ground.

The ground was cold and made purely of cut stone. The surprise from the light had faded, and she was able to take in her surroundings. She noticed stairs a few feet from her, leading down to a crystal clear body of water. Looking out over the expanse, she saw nothing but beautiful crystals reflecting the light back onto the still waters. The cave was quite impressive, and, turning to her left, Jaina saw a pathway leading around the water, close to the side of the walls and down another dimly lit tunnel.

Jaina felt a smile form on her lips. She continued her exploration of this area of...wherever she was. Her attention was brought to her right.. On this side of the bed, there were more steps that lead down into the water, and a beautiful mahogany dresser. Next to it were mannequins that carried the most magnificent of outfits. Most of the mannequins donned beautifully ornate masks. Some had different colors, others were different styles. Some of the masks even had jewels embedded into their edges. The outfits themselves matched the masks in color and in elegance.

Though Jaina felt the urge to inspect the furniture and outfits further, she had a feeling that someone was waiting for her. Just as before, the music was familiar, and she could not resist the call.

She was careful to watch her footing as she maneuvered herself away from the bed, down the stone bridge and towards a tunneled hallway, continuing to follow the enchanting flow of the music. Staying close to the wall, Jaina glanced up at the torches that lit the pathway. They, too, were fancy in that they were held by a golden sconce that glinted upon the water.

Turning her way down the tunnel brought more amazement. Hanging from the arched top of the tunnel were thousands of lit candles. The area was softly lit, and the further Jaina ventured down the hallway, the lighting would grow to a different shade. An eerie yet somehow calming hue of blue that nearly matched the water took over the illuminating candles.

The music grew louder the closer she got. The waterline began to recede as Jaina felt a slight incline in the pathway. Soon, there was no water left as the ramp reached its peak. The sight before her nearly brought Jaina to her knees in awe.

There before her was a huge chamber, filled with candles glowing with a ghostly blue flame that sparkled amidst natural minerals present in the room. Large rocky overhangs hung from the top of the cavern, but did not hinder the sound that came from the centermost piece in the room.

In between an ornate piano and a blackened wooden desk, stood the most magnificent organ in which Jaina had ever seen. With widened eyes, the woman took in the way that the pipes curled up to the peak of the cavern. The room did not seem to be made for the reverberation of sound vibrations to bounce back and forth, what with the overhanging spikes, however, music still filled the room.

Jaina slowly stepped further into the room, to the center, and her eyes fell upon none other than her host. Jaina remained quiet, nonetheless, as she knew it would be a crime to interrupt such beautiful music. She could not, though, stay put. Carefully and as quietly as she could, Jaina crept forward just enough to witness how the organist’s gloved fingers danced across the levels of keys. The mysterious woman from before sat with a straight back as she let her fingers create the most gorgeous piece of music that Jaina had ever heard. The woman’s ears twitched ever so slightly each time the composition hit a minor note or slipped into a different key.

Jaina didn’t feel herself lower to the ground, or sit cross legged before the musician as the song was carried out. She sensed nothing but bliss, even when the music stopped.

It was silent for a few seconds before Jaina was pulled out of her entranced state by the sound of the organ’s bench creaking. She centered her attention on the organist, who had slightly turned her attention to their small audience.

“Did I wake you?”

Jaina’s eyes widened. She quickly looked behind her to see if there was any other living soul that the question could have been directed too. Once she knew that it was indeed directed towards her, she gulped, and answered softly, “N-no.”

Smoothing down her overcoat, the elven woman stood up. The mask still held tight to the right side of the woman’s face, but nevertheless made the scene even more captivating. Clearing her throat, she readjusted the way in which the coat rested on her shoulders before slowly making her way towards Jaina.

“Marvelous.” She extended a hand towards the younger woman seated on the floor. “I daresay, you had been sleeping for quite some time. I was beginning to worry!” When Jaina hesitated to take her hand, she continued with a smile, “Come, come. I will not harm you.”

Jaina let the woman help her up. They stood together for a long moment, staring into each other’s eyes, until Jaina realized that she had still been holding onto the elf’s hand. Quickly, she pulled back and lowered her head shamefully.

“Forgive me.” she muttered.

A gentle hand lifted Jaina’s chin up. The two of them were nearly pressed up against one another. Their faces were inches apart. The heat between them created an aura of longing and tantalizing desire inside of Jaina’s heart, but she did not act so rashly. Instead, she sheepishly stood in the woman’s soft grasp.

“Whyfor, my dear?” The masked woman tilted her head to the side. “You look much like your father.”

Her breathing stopped. “M-my father?”

The woman widened her eyes, and pulled back, turning towards the organ to collect her sheet music. “It is I who should apologize. I have not introduced myself.”

Jaina stared at her in disbelief. She said nothing, however, as questions bounced back and forth within her mind.

“Sylvanas.” Said the elf, curling the leather folder over the music. “Welcome to the Undercity.”

“...S-sylvanas?” Jaina repeated.

Sylvanas lifted a long pointed brow. “Yes, Jaina?”

“How do you know my name?” She blurted.

Jaina watched Sylvanas move towards the large black desk to the side of the organ. She leaned to the side to watch her host tuck the music in the top drawer before turning back to her. Jaina continued to wait, patiently, while Sylvanas unbuttoned her coat and hung it over the back of the desk chair. Under the coat was a white blouse, tucked tightly into the elf’s pants.

“I have known you for a very long time, Jaina.” Sylvanas replied. “This must be confusing for you, I understand. I will explain in due time.”

Jaina wasn’t satisfied with that answer. “And my father, how do you know him?”

Sylvanas’ crimson gaze rested on Jaina. “He was a friend of mine.” Her ears seemed to wilt ever so slightly. “A very good friend.”

Perplexed as ever, Jaina reached up to hold her arm uncomfortably. “You know he…”

Sylvanas closed the distance between them, offering her arm to Jaina. “I know.”

Jaina stared at the outstretched arm presented. She had an internal battle with herself as to whether she should trust this mysterious woman. Ever since she could walk, Jaina was taught to not trust strangers. Though, something about this woman, this Sylvanas, drew Jaina in like a magnet. Bypassing her own precautions, Jaina slipped her arm into Sylvanas’.

Pleased, Sylvanas nodded her thanks to Jaina and carefully lead her out of the room and down the path. They silently walked into the chamber of water, but, instead of heading towards the way in which Jaina came, they took a left, walking along a sturdy bridge.

Jaina broke the awkward silence. “How deep is the water?”

Sylvanas’ ears perked, having seemingly been lost in thought. It took her a few seconds to process Jaina’s question. “Two feet. Nothing too deep.”

Jaina, truthfully, didn’t listen to the answer. The surprise and shock of the situation brought nothing but racing thoughts to the young singer. She had so many questions; perhaps too many to be asked or answered.

The silence returned until they entered yet another chamber, though, this one was very dark, aside for the torches outlining the circular walls of the room. In truth, it resembled a ballroom: a very old and ancient ballroom.

Once they reached the center, Sylvanas pulled her arm away from Jaina to stand before her. She cleared her throat, stood tall, and peered towards Jaina through the mask.

“There are tough times ahead, Jaina.” Sylvanas began. “You are well-versed in the vocal arts, but you have not learned everything.”

Furrowing her brows, Jaina stayed silently still, listening.

“I have supervised you for quite some time, and while I commend your instructors for their dedication, I am afraid to say that they hold no weight in what you will learn from me.” Sylvanas stood tall with pride. “This opera coming up. You will play the lead, as you should have, for many years before. However, this time, you will be prepared.”

“The Rebellion?” Jaina whispered in disbelief. “Azshara is-”

“A snake.” Sylvanas finished for her with malice. “She disgraces the very memory of the writer, I assure you.”

Jaina never wanted to step on toes. She did not want to take Azshara’s role and she certainly did not want to face the diva’s wrath. Besides, this stranger before her, someone she didn’t even know claimed to be such a marvelous teacher, more so than Jaina’s other instructors. Jaina remembered her father telling her that he would only have the best teachers for his only daughter.

And the color drained from her face when she remembered the situation that occurred just hours before. The message… the murder. Her heart began to beat at a staggering rate, her palms heated up and her body began to tremble in fear. She took a step back, but froze when she felt a gentle grip on her arm. She brought her quivering eyes up to meet Sylvanas’.

Sylvanas tilted her head to the side inquisitively as she noticed the change in Jaina’s demeanor. The masked woman leaned forward once more, eliminating the distance between them. She lifted her left hand to Jaina’s cheek, pressing their foreheads together softly. “My dear Jaina,” whispered Sylvanas, “are you afraid of the dark?”

The answer came quietly, unsure, through Jaina’s lips, “N-no.”

“Good.” Sylvanas replied, pulling her head back slightly. She parted her lips, showing off two white, elven fangs. “I am the dark.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta readers, again! Also, BrazenedMinstrel has this awesome Sylvaina fic called Ashen Wings! Go check it out!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter, but I've been inspired to start writing this again. I apologize for any errors. I hope you enjoy!

The way Sylvanas whirled around Jaina left the young woman in a tailspin. She did not recognize that she was being moved forward, nor did she realize the firm hand on the small of her back until they were well down the hallway. 

She did not pay attention to the corridor in which they were travelling down. The cobwebs and the floating candles eluded her; the various tick marks in the cobblestone wall remained unseen. There was an eerie glow at the end of the tunnel, but that was far from Jaina’s focus. Instead, Jaina kept her thoughts on Sylvanas. This mysterious woman who appeared not only in visions, but in the flesh. Supernatural magics surrounded the masked elf, making her presence all the more intimidating, but also perplexing.

Jaina took in the scent of fresh roses wafting from her guide, wondering if it were a natural aroma. If she were to contemplate further, nothing about this woman seemed natural. The mask, above all, stood out to her the most. She wondered what could lie beneath such an accessory. Thinking further, Jaina figured that it must be something more than just a face trying to hide, as half of Sylvanas’ face was uncovered.

Sylvanas had led Jaina into a room that looked more like a library than anything. There was another desk situated between large bookshelves. There was a sofa before a roaring fire, that, eerily flickered but did not give off any heat whatsoever. On the sides of the stone fireplace, stood two sets of armor. One was a beautiful blue battledress, adorned with silver shoulderguards and wristplates. Sitting atop the mannequin was a beautiful woven silver crown. On the other side of the fireplace, was a more practical looking set of equipment. While it was silver with golden trim, this armor looked like it had seen some use. It was banged up, scuffed, and dented, but the most prominent part of the armor set was the gilded helmet. The helmet, silver, as well, looked as though it had been forged improperly. The edges of the helmet, where the chin of the soldier would be protected, had been ripped and curled upwards, as if someone had tried to get the helmet off, but struggled in doing so.

While the armor sets were impressive, Jaina noticed that, all over the walls, desk, and floor, were handwritten musical scores. Unconsciously pulling away from her host, the young woman stepped forward, leaning down to pick up one of the papers. The paper was old. Orange from age and brittle from wear and tear. On it, was the most elaborate handwriting in which Jaina had ever seen. She peered at it, for a moment, until something else in the room caught her eye. 

There was an alcove on the other side of the room that Jaina hadn’t noticed when she first entered. This alcove was lit by a dim light, but seemed more profound than any other location in the room. Tiered shelves: the top holding a very old journal on a pedestal, the lower carrying an open leather binder full of what looked like a completed but hand-written operatic score.

Jaina shuffled forward, leaning in to take a closer look at the score. It must have been important to be featured and preserved so well. She glanced up and down at the pages that were presented from the leather binder, and noticed something peculiar. Furrowing her brows, Jaina glanced back at Sylvanas, who had already settled in at the desk. 

The young singer slowly approached the masked woman, but hesitated for a few seconds. Finally, however, “This is The Rebellion opera.”

Sylvanas set her quill down slowly before letting her attention rest on her guest. “It is.” She replied calmly. 

Jaina stared at her for a good minute before speaking again. “It’s not printed.”

“Hand-written, yes.”

Jaina looked back towards the alcove, unable to find the words to say. Jaina had no idea what to think. She stammered in her voice, failing to find purchase.

“Cat got your tongue, little dove?” Came Sylvanas’ silky voice.

Jaina turned back towards the desk, only to find that she was, yet again, inches from Sylvanas. “A-ah…” She stared into the red eyes that bore into her own blue. 

“What is on your mind?”

Jaina decided to simply spit it out, “Why would you handwrite your own when there are so many copies?”

Sylvanas raised both long brows. “There were no printing presses back then.”

The mysterious woman retreated from Jaina, towards the sofa where she gracefully sat down. She lifted her gloved hand, gesturing for Jaina to come join her, to which the woman did. However, before Jaina could speak, Sylvanas began to explain, “I am a very old woman, contrary to what you may believe.” 

It is true, Sylvanas did not look a day over the human age of twenty-seven. Regardless, Jaina let the woman speak while she listened quietly. 

“I was there when The Rebellion was written, of course.” Sylvanas smirked when she saw the expression of absolute confusion on Jaina’s face. “The Opera itself was written for this very theatre, and, since Lordaeron is mine, it only makes sense that I would have the original score.”

“The original score?” Jaina blurted, eyes widening. 

“That is what I said, is it not?” Sylvanas spoke with an amused lilt in her voice. “Sit here, yes? I have something to show you.” 

Jaina waited patiently while Sylvanas stood from the couch, going to retrieve something. In the short amount of time in which Sylvanas was gone, Jaina could not bring herself to comprehend what Sylvanas had said. The Lordaeron opera house itself was hundreds of years old, and The Rebellion opera was reported to have been written just a few years after the building was destroyed in the actual battle of Theramore. Jaina tried to put the pieces together in her head. Her family came to Lordaeron and refurbished it nearly fifty years ago, and that was at least one hundred years after the rebellion itself. Jaina shook her head, hoping to clear her thoughts in the process. 

“Look here,” Sylvanas said, sitting down once more, “This is very old, and important to me.” 

It was then that Sylvanas presented the journal that had been displayed above the seemingly original score. When Jaina held the journal in her hands, she could feel the object nearly falling apart. This was old, as well. Perhaps even older than the story that Sylvanas was telling her. Jaina glanced up at Sylvanas, asking her for permission with her eyes to inspect the journal further. When Sylvanas nodded to her, Jaina carefully pulled the cover of the journal back. Inside, was a plethora of words that detailed the start of the Rebellion itself. Not just the start of the war, but the very beginning of the confrontation between the Warrior and Arthas. All of it, every single word, Jaina noted as she flipped through the pages, was hand written. They weren’t scribbles like the prop that Azshara used when performing her role. 

Though, as Jaina neared the end of the journal, Sylvanas quickly, but carefully took it from her. The masked woman said nothing, then, just looking over the front cover of the journal for a long moment. 

Jaina cleared her throat awkwardly. “That is… more fragile than the one we use. It’s almost like it is the real thing.” 

“That's because it is.”


End file.
